


everything comes back to you

by obsessivereader



Series: The accidental series [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, accidental nip slip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 22:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12220629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivereader/pseuds/obsessivereader
Summary: Steve drags a hand through his hair before plucking at the front of his shirt and flapping it to get air moving against his skin. Bucky watches, transfixed, as he keeps getting flashing glimpses of Steve’s nipples. He flicks a guilty glance at Steve just in time to see Steve’s eyelids sliding down to cover his eyes. Bucky's stomach turns over at the thought that Steve might’ve caught him looking. He’s not sure whether to be relieved at not getting caught, or disappointed.One of these days, he’s going to mess up and cross a line with Steve. His hands curl into fists to stop himself from doing something incredibly stupid. And yet, he can’t stop waiting for just another glimpse.When Steve finally leaves off fanning himself and splays his hand on his stomach, Bucky takes a relieved breath, and allows himself one last—“See something you like?”





	everything comes back to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wearing_tearing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/gifts), [talkplaylove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkplaylove/gifts).



> Well this turned out a lot less crack-y than I expected, given that the prompt was 'accidental nip slip'. I swear I looked away for just a moment, and then all these feels crept in. This fic is for RJ because she made me an accidental bingo sheet which I now have to fill, and for Julia for adding fuel to the fire. <3 
> 
> The title is from This Town by Niall Horan, which is a very Steve/Bucky song imo.

They stagger down to their apartment after the last of the 4th of July fireworks have faded from the sky, leaving nothing behind but smoke, and afterimages on the backs of Bucky’s eyelids. He’s got a nice buzz from the cheap whiskey they’d drunk to celebrate Steve’s birthday, and from the slight slur to Steve’s words and the wideness of his smile, Steve’s feeling it, too.

They collapse together, side by side, on the couch. Bucky squints at the bottle in his hand. About half left.

“Fuck this weather,” Steve groans.

Bucky concurs. It’s hot and muggy—the kind of weather that feels like the sweat won’t dry even when there’s a breeze.

Steve heaves himself upright, shrugs off his suspenders and unbuttons the top four buttons of his shirt before collapsing back. Bucky’s gaze is drawn to where the bare light bulb casts intriguing shadows in the vee of Steve’s shirt.

His breath hitches when he realises that Steve had left off his undershirt in the heat. From where Bucky’s sitting, he can catch a glimpse of one pale pink nipple just peeking out from under the open neckline of Steve’s shirt.

Bucky swallows and looks down at the bottle in his hand.

He says, “What’d you wish for?” because he really needs to stop thinking about things he shouldn’t be thinking about.

“Wishing on birthday candles is just an old wives’ tale,” Steve replies in a superior tone.

“Yeah, but you’re not wishing on candles, you’re wishing on the first fireworks of the night. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Steve slants him a look from under lashes that should be too long for a fella.

“You did wish,” Bucky crows.

“I did,” Steve admits.

“Okay.” Bucky swallows again. “That’s good.” He catches the edge of a wistful, slightly sad smile on Steve’s mouth just before Steve looks down to pick at the scab on his knuckle. Something about that smile sinks like a hook into Bucky’s chest. “What’d you wish for?”

“You know it won’t come true if I tell you.”

“That’s just an old wives’ tale, Steve,” he says, mimicking Steve’s tone as he leans forward to put the bottle on the floor. There’s a slightly forced edge to the ribbing that he hopes Steve doesn’t notice.

He gets a sharp elbow jabbed into his side, and the strange tension dissipates as he shoves Steve back.

Steve drags a hand through his hair before plucking at the front of his shirt and flapping it to get air moving against his skin. Bucky watches, transfixed, as he keeps getting flashing glimpses of Steve’s nipples. He flicks a guilty glance at Steve just in time to see Steve’s eyelids sliding down to cover his eyes. Bucky's stomach turns over at the thought that Steve might’ve caught him looking. He’s not sure whether to be relieved at not getting caught, or disappointed.

One of these days, he’s going to mess up and cross a line with Steve. His hands curl into fists to stop himself from doing something incredibly stupid. And yet, he can’t stop waiting for just another glimpse.

When Steve finally leaves off fanning himself and splays his hand on his stomach, Bucky takes a relieved breath. He allows himself one last—

“See something you like?”

Bucky sucks in a shocked breath. His heart gives a loud, uncomfortable thump as his gaze locks with Steve’s. An instinctive denial dies on his tongue when he sees the intent way Steve’s watching him.

Maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe he’s just tired of hiding it, maybe he just wants Steve too much. He opens his mouth and hears himself say, “Yeah, I do actually.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Are you gonna do something about it?”

The challenge in Steve’s voice sends the blood roaring through his ears. Not quite believing what he’s about to do, he slides his hand into the open neckline of Steve’s shirt and drags his thumb over a small, flat nipple. His mouth goes dry at the contrast between his tanned, work-roughened hand and the Irish-pale skin of Steve’s chest.

At the sound of a shuddering, indrawn breath, Bucky looks up to find Steve watching him with darkened eyes.

“What are we doing here, Stevie?”

“Whatever you want,” Steve answers, with a husky catch in his voice.

“Jesus _Christ_.” Bucky grabs Steve by the hips and drags him onto his lap. For maybe about the sixth time in Steve’s life, he goes willingly, swinging a leg over Bucky to straddle him.

Bucky’s cock _throbs_.

He pushes the shirt out of the way and licks first one nipple, then the other, savouring the salt of Steve’s sweat on his tongue, and the way Steve’s nipple tightens into a small, firm bud.

“I’m not one of your dames, Buck,” Steve growls, even as one hand comes up to cup the back of Bucky’s head.

“Believe me, I know.” Bucky pulls Steve closer so he can feel the hard outline of Bucky’s cock. They both groan when their cocks press together through their pants. “That’s all for you, Stevie.”

He goes a little cross-eyed when Steve’s hand tightens in his hair and angles his head back. It doesn’t surprise him at all that Steve kisses like he lives his life—no holds barred, no quarter given, holding nothing back in reserve.

“Easy, Steve,” he whispers against Steve’s lips. If Steve keeps kissing him like that, hard and possessive, it’s going to be over all too soon. He wants to savour Steve, wants to learn every knobbly bit of him. “We’ve got time.”

“Do we?”

He pulls back and, with a careful hand, pushes Steve’s fringe out of the way. “Of course we do. Why wouldn’t we?”

The expression of bravado on Steve’s face is one Bucky knows all too well.

“Steve.” Bucky dips his head to catch Steve’s eye. “Do you think this is just a one time thing?”

The question is met by silence, which is answer enough.

He leans up to nip at Steve’s bottom lip in rebuke. “This can last for as long as you want it to.”

The look Steve gives him then is fierce and a little feral. “You sure? ‘Cause I might hold you to that for a really long time.”

An answering fierceness wells up in Bucky. “I’m sure,” he vows.

This time, when they kiss, it’s slower, but no less intense. Bucky licks his way down Steve’s neck, and when he nips at the join between neck and shoulder, Steve shudders and groans out Bucky’s name. And _god_ , he’s heard his name spoken by Steve in all manner of ways, but never like that, with that wanting, desperate edge.

Bucky continues down Steve’s throat, stopping to lick at the hollow at its base, and to nip at Steve’s collarbone. Then he reaches up and pulls Steve’s partially unbuttoned shirt down, exposing Steve’s chest and trapping his arms against his side.

“Bucky,” Steve groans, as Bucky takes one nipple between his teeth and gently bites down. Steve’s hips jerk against his own, and Bucky growls in satisfaction. He traces the contours of Steve’s bones with his lips and tongue and teeth. When Steve’s breathing starts to sound ragged, Bucky backs off and gives Steve a worried look.

Steve makes a frustrated sound and pulls his arms free from the shirt, leaving it to pool around his hips. He grabs Bucky by the collar and yanks him in for a devouring kiss that sets Bucky’s heart to pounding. Hands scrabble at his buttons and Bucky quickly finds himself shirtless. Steve grinds himself against Bucky, making him choke back a curse at they way their cocks rub together through the layers of their clothing.

He wraps a hand around Steve’s neck and pulls him back into a kiss that gets increasingly desperate as they rock together faster and faster, until they’re not so much kissing as exchanging breaths. Steve tips over the edge first, and the sounds he makes drags Bucky over with him.

They cling to each other as they shudder their way through the aftermath and try to catch their breaths. Bucky’s lips tingle from all the kissing they’d done, his spend is cooling uncomfortably in his pants, and the sweltering heat of the apartment has them both slick with sweat, but he can’t bring himself to let go of Steve. He wants them to stay there, wrapped in each other’s arms forever.

If they’re careful, he thinks to himself, if they never let the outside world see any sign, they just might be able to.

๑ ๑ ๑

Bucky rests his forehead against the plate glass window and stares down at the city streets hundreds of feet below, his book lying abandoned next to him on the window seat. Some days, he needs the comfort of knowing that most people get to lead normal lives, that he gets to contribute to preserving that normalcy.

When he hears the apartment door open behind him, he turns in time to see Steve enter, looking immaculate and unattainable in his perfectly fitted tuxedo.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious in the well-worn T-shirt and sweatpants he’d stolen from Steve, he almost wants to hide himself away. But then, he notices the tense set to Steve’s shoulders, the downward turn of his lips, and the dullness of his eyes—the result of an evening spent packing away Steve Rogers and donning the persona of Captain America.

So he stays, because fragmented though Bucky’s memories may be, Steve deserves someone who sees him for the person he is underneath. He stays because Steve will never ask for anything for himself.

And all those little signs that Steve’s human too just make Bucky want him even more _._ He wants so much that his mind feeds him dreams of skin on skin, of whispered endearments, and shuddering sighs, even though Steve’s never once given him any indication that he wants anything more from Bucky than friendship.

_Just friends. We’re just friends._

Maybe if he reminds himself often enough, one of these days, he’ll stop hoping for more.

Steve scans the apartment until he spots Bucky. His expression softens into a welcoming warmth and his tension bleeds away. “There you are.” He pulls off his bowtie and shrugs out of his jacket as he walks into the living room.

“How was the gala?” Bucky asks.

Steve gives a tired sigh and shakes his head. “Every moment I was there,” he says with a rueful look, “I wished I was home with you.”

Bucky’s traitorous heart turns over in his chest.

Steve drapes his jacket and bowtie over the couch back. Then, he takes off the black cummerband that accentuates his ridiculously narrow waist and drops it on top of the jacket. “What’d you do while I was out?” he asks, as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

Bucky’s eyes widen as he watches the movement of Steve’s hands in helpless fascination. First one button is undone, then the next, and the next, revealing a pale sliver of smooth, unblemished skin. Bucky’s fingers twitch, and the salt taste of sweat blooms on his tongue.

He’s so distracted that it takes him a few seconds to notice that Steve’s gone perfectly still. He watches Bucky intently, his hands frozen in the act of freeing yet another button. Too late, Bucky realises what he must’ve given away. Every muscle in his body tenses up with the need to run, and yet he can’t tear his gaze away from Steve’s.

Steve says, slowly, deliberately, “See something you like?”

Bucky sucks in a shocked breath as fragments of—not dream but _memory_ slide together. “That—” He swallows to wet a throat gone dry. “That really happened?”

Steve watches him with eyes that glow with hope. “You remember?”

“I thought…” He gives an uncomfortable shrug. “I thought I dreamed it up ‘cause I wanted it so much.”

“It wasn’t a dream, Buck,” Steve says, a tiny hitch in his voice giving away his agitation. “It really happened.”

Emotions churn inside him at Steve’s words. But rather than trying to sort the tangle out, his mind latches onto the first thing that occurs to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Steve scrubs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t wanna pressure you. I’d have waited for you—forever if I had to—but you had to be the one to come to me.” He gives Bucky a worried look. “Should I have—?”

Bucky shakes his head, reeling at the casual way Steve threw around a word like _forever_. “No,” he says. “You were right not to say. I wasn’t… ready.”

“I’m not to same either, Buck. Who knows if you’d even want me after…” Steve trails off and gives him a weak attempt at a smile.

It’s true. Steve hasn’t lost his zeal to do the right thing, but his sharper edges have been tempered by loss and time. He’s quieter, now, and more patient. Bucky considers that for a moment, and amends the thought to _marginally_ more patient. And yet somehow, despite their wildly divergent paths, they still fit together.

Bucky stands up and walks towards Steve. The sound of Steve’s breathing gets more and more ragged, and he holds himself like he’s about to fly apart at any moment.

Bucky stops when only a foot of space separates them. He cups his hand around Steve's cheek. “I'm here.”

The taut bands of Steve’s control snap and Bucky gets hauled into a hug so tight that it makes even his enhanced ribs creak. His arms come up around Steve when he buries his face in Bucky’s neck and takes shuddering breath after shuddering breath.

“Thank god,” Steve whispers into Bucky’s skin.

Pressed together from chest to thigh, arms wrapped around each other, Bucky feels warm all the way through for the first time in over seventy years.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr :) [yetanotherobsessivereader](http://yetanotherobsessivereader.tumblr.com/)


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